


Process

by pt_tucker



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Community: daredevilkink, Heavy submissive Wesley undertones, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/pseuds/pt_tucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though he hated the cliché, if Wesley had to describe it, he’d have to say that he masturbated like he did everything else – cleanly, methodically, and without any undue emotion. Sure, he made the expected noises, the funny faces, and sometimes managed to get unpleasant stains on his tie, but he took pride in not behaving like a hormonal teenager hell-bent on whipping it out anywhere, anytime. Wesley had a process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Process

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, so if you see any mistakes, LMK! (I do go through my fics a few times, though, so it shouldn't be too awful.)
> 
> Written for this [prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=5761736#cmt5761736) which basically just wanted Wesley masturbating. :D

Though he hated the cliché, if Wesley had to describe it, he’d have to say that he masturbated like he did everything else – cleanly, methodically, and without any undue emotion. Sure, he made the expected noises, the funny faces, and sometimes managed to get unpleasant stains on his tie, but he took pride in not behaving like a hormonal teenager hell-bent on whipping it out anywhere, anytime. Wesley had a process.

It would begin with his nightly dismissal, when his employer concluded his business and told Wesley he was free to leave. Wesley didn’t always go directly home after that; on occasion there were other tasks to be completed outside of Wilson’s notice. Not that Wesley ever tried to hide anything from him. It was just that Wilson shouldn’t have to be bothered with the day-to-day details of every operation. 

When Wesley did make it back to his apartment, he’d give himself time to unwind and get into the mood. He’d unbutton his jacket and loosen his tie before sitting down in his favorite chair – the leather one that was the perfect balance between plush enough to sink into and firm enough not to make him feel like he was slouching. He’d have retrieved a glass of one of his many wines by then, and would spend the next hour sipping it while making certain Wilson wasn’t going to call him with one final errand. His employer usually didn’t, but it was always best to err on the side of caution. 

Sometimes Wesley watched porn while he waited, and other times he read erotic fiction, though he used the word “fiction” lightly since the published drivel people produced these days barely qualified as writing. Most of the time he didn’t bother with either. Instead, he’d toy with his phone, thinking of Wilson while waiting for a call that wouldn’t come, or wouldn’t be what he wanted if it did. Serving his employer gave him a very specific kind of pleasure, but not the kind that left him aching under his zipper, ready to wreck his $7,000 pants at the slightest touch. Not usually, anyway. 

Once he was half-hard, or hard, if it’d been one of those days, he’d carry his wine and his phone into the bedroom. The latter would be placed on the nightstand: within reach if needed, but not so close as to risk an unfortunate accident. The former he’d continue to sip as Wesley made himself comfortable on the bed. He’d rub himself through his pants while he finished it, occasionally sliding a hand up to encircle a nipple through his shirt. 

After the wine was gone, he’d place the empty glass beside his phone, and then the night would really begin. Sometimes, if he hadn’t had to deal with imbeciles who snapped insults at him in Russian or annoying old men who should have done everyone a favor and just died already, he’d finish things quickly so that he could get on with the bath he liked to soak in while he prepared for Wilson’s schedule the next day. There had always been something remarkably satisfying about calling to threaten various individuals while he himself was naked and vulnerable on the other side of the line. 

If Wesley did need the additional stress relief, then he liked to draw things out to his absolute limit before he allowed himself any reward. He imagined it was similar to how things might play out if he was ever trusting enough to allow someone else complete control during these moments. Someone other than Wilson, who for all intents and purposes didn’t seem to realize Wesley even _had_ desires, let alone sexual ones. Wesley was rather proud of that accomplishment. 

He’d start by unbuttoning his shirt and spreading the sides as wide as they would go while he still wore his tie and suit jacket. His nipples would often peak: he liked to keep his room cool. If not, then he’d twist and pull them to the point of pain as punishment for not living up to his expectations. He’d lick the tips of his fingers and spread the saliva across them as he rubbed them between his thumb and index. If Wesley had had a particularly bad day, he’d brush his hands over them – over and over until they chafed. He wasn’t overly fond of pain, but he liked the twinging reminder that followed in the days after every time he moved to complete one of Wilson’s commands. Of course, he’d have to wear his chastity belt then, as erections at work were entirely unprofessional. 

Whether he thoroughly abused them or not, the toying of his nipples combined with his previous arousal would by then be enough to have him unbearably hard. His hands would glide across his stomach and down to the zipper of his pants. He’d pull out the towel he kept in his nightstand, along with his bottle of lubricant – the only two “aids” he owned outside of his chastity belt, which was more of a necessity than a kink. 

Wesley preferred things to be as uncomplicated as possible.

He would place the towel over the top of his pants and then slip his lubricant-wet hand down into his boxers. He’d pull himself out a little, just enough so that the tip of his dick was poking above the towel’s edge. And then his tie would be pulled up and across his mouth, completing his preparation. He lived on the top level of his building, and the floor was thick enough to prevent any sound from carrying through – he’d checked – but Wesley liked the added challenge of keeping quiet as long as possible. It seemed better than grunting and groaning like a wild animal. More tidy.

The tie helped him remember his goal when things became…desperate.

His hand would start out slow. A fingertip against his slit, the glide of his palm across the underside of his dick, some teasing of his perineum. Wesley was a leaker, and pre-come would soon start to dribble out of his urethra and onto his lower abdomen. He’d add a second hand, and that would stretch his bespoke pants uncomfortably even with the zipper down, but the constriction would only increase his excitement. 

Wesley only liked to work outside the lines after he left the bedroom. 

He’d lean his head back into the pillows and close his eyes as he ran one hand after the other from base to tip, and then tip to base when that became too dull. If he ever felt too close, he’d stop and mentally go over the wines he would next recommend to Wilson. It didn’t always help. Wilson’s commanding presence could be potentially hindering if Wesley allowed his imagination to run away from him. 

Not that the things Wesley imagined tended to be all that exciting. He’d recall the way Wilson had thanked him for dealing with a particularly troublesome drug runner while he spread the pre-come across the head of his dick with his thumb. He’d remember how Wilson had called him in early as he squeezed the tip and how he’d made him stay late as he milked the liquid out. He’d think back on every time someone called him a lapdog in Wilson’s presence and every time Wilson hadn’t corrected them as he rolled his balls between his fingers. And when he suffered a momentary loss of control and jerked into his hands, he’d replay how Wilson had apologized for him that time he’d gotten too cheeky with the Australian duo – a subtle reprimand that had left him burning inside for hours. 

After he’d worked himself up enough that even the slide of his boxers made him want to squirm, he’d pull one hand out and loosen the other. He’d lay there rocking his hips, his fingers clenched into the blanket on one side of him, while his other hand barely brushed against his dick. It was usually around then that he could no longer hold in the little frustrated gasps that escaped him, so he would turn his face to the side and press it into his pillow as hard as he could. Sometimes the annoyance of his glasses digging into his skin was enough to bring him back under control. Sometimes it wasn’t, and his gasps would grow louder as his harsh breathing turned into desperate panting.

Then, finally, some switch inside him would flip. He’d decide that, _yes,_ he _had_ earned it, and he’d come with a low groan. His hips would lift off the mattress and his hand would _crush_ the blanket between his fingers and his stomach would grow sticky and his legs would almost ache from their frozen position and his glasses would somehow skew no matter which direction he threw his head. And then Wesley would collapse into a pathetic wreck.

Eventually, he’d convince his body that falling asleep covered in semen was unpleasant at best, and he’d grab his phone and wobble his way into the bathroom. By then he’d have several missed calls, but they would be from people other than Wilson, so he’d take his sweet time drawing himself a steaming bath. And then he’d get back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> LMK what you thought! Comments, kudos & constructive criticism greatly appreciated!
> 
> Hopefully I didn't mess up the tenses too much in this. I really liked the idea of having a sort of "tell the reader" vibe that involved lots of "woulds" and "thens" but then also slipping into Wesley's current thoughts. IDK if I did it correctly at all, but hopefully it doesn't read too badly.


End file.
